Daughter Of The Gods, part 1
Written by Poker

The old man stood at the window of his apartment. He stood, looking across the city towards the Great Nile, flowing eternally through the city of Memphis. He did not, however, see the city. His eyes were focused on something much more distant. As tears streamed down his leathery face, the scribe remembered. His life had been dedicated to the service of the "Per-ao", or "Great House". As each Pharaoh had come, the scribe had duly transferred his allegiance; for it is written "If you want to know what to do in life, cling to the pharaoh and be loyal ... " But the events of that morning were too much. It was impossible for the scribe to forgive the new pharaoh, Horemheb, the evil deed that had been done in his name. The death of Ankhesenpaaten was too much, the fish that split the net. The scribe was old now, he would serve the Great House no more. All that was left for him, was to record what he had seen over his long life, for he knew that Horemheb would wipe the record clean of most that had come before him.

The scribe moved over to his small table and prepared a roll of papyrus. Before he began to write, he whispered the ancient prayer, commending those whom he had served, to the Gods. 'You live again, you live again forever, here you are young once more for ever.' As he wrote, his mind travelled back to the days of his middle age. The days when Ankhesenamun and her brother Tutankamun, were still know to the world by the God given names divined by their father. The days of innocence, when the Great House lived in the city, built to the glory of Aton, Akhetaten........

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'Catch it! Catch it!' the little girl cried out, laughing. She had tossed the golden ball to the gangling servant of her father's. The scribe leaped to the side, his arm vainly outstretched, but the golden orb flew past his fingers as usual. When he had followed the ancient exhortation "Be a scribe, who is freed from forced labour, and protected from all work." the scribe had never dreamed that it would lead to him becoming the play companion of the pharaoh's daughter! 'Go on get the ball. You missed it again!.' The scribe smiled and went in search of the ball.

Ankhesenpaaten watched the middle aged man as he searched for the ball, which had rolled under some bushes. She often teased him but, in some ways, he was closer to her than her whole family. He spent more time with her, and worked to grant her every wish. Ankhesenpaaten was a beautiful child, nine years old, her body slim and lithe. Her skin was tanned and smooth. Being of the royal line, she was pampered and protected, her body treated with the most expensive oils and lotions. While the scribe scrambled around in the bushes, Ankhesenpaaten sat on the raised edge of an ornamental pond, trailing her hand in the water. Through the ripples, she could make out her reflection, her eyes, highlighted in malachite green and the midnight black of kohl, were bright and laughing. Her thick, dark hair plaited in a rope at the side of her head, the remainder of her head shaved smooth to denote her nobility. Her beautiful little mouth was full and firm, continually stretched in a wide grin.

As the scribe returned from the bushes, ball clutched in his sweaty hand, he saw a grave faced courtier approach from the inner chambers of the palace. The courtier walked over to him and in a low voice gave the news that, while expected, still hurt. 'The glorious Nefertiti has gone to meet the great Aton.' The scribe sighed and looked over at the beautiful little girl with sadness in his eyes.

'Thank you for bringing this terrible news. I will tell the child and bring her to her mother's side.'

The courtier, looking relieved, left the scribe to his onerous task. He went over to the pond and sat on the stone edge next to the little girl. 'Child...... I have something I need to tell you. You know that your mother has been very ill....' Ankhesenpaaten nodded. 'Well, she has now finished her journey here on earth and is travelling the sky with Aton.' The girl looked at him, silent tears began to roll down her cheeks. With a heart wrenching cry she threw her arms around him and gave herself over to her grief.

Later that day, her face washed clean and new cosmetics applied, Ankhesenpaaten stood in her mother's chamber. Her little hand gripping that of her father's tightly......(cont)